The Car Bomb (The detroit im dying Trilogy, Book 1) (18 page)

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To my daughter Jennie and son Bobby: I love you both more than I can say, and from now on I’ll be there for you in a way that I so often failed to be in the past.

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To all of my friends and co-workers: I’ll never stop trying to be worthy of the kindness and understanding you’ve shown me over the years.

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And to all of you out there who turn to Channel 5 for the news you need in this town: my pledge is simply to earn your trust again. That means no more drinking, no more drugs, no more sordid stories about bar brawls and public indiscretions. Just good old-fashioned hard work and dedicated effort to bring you the best, most comprehensive news show possible every single day.

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That’s my pledge, folks, and with a little help from the Man Upstairs, we’ll make it a reality from this day forward. Mary?”

Sitting next to him on the set, Mary Scott was nearly gaping at him. She turned to one of the studio cameras with a stunned look, then turning back, she put a hand on his. “Thank you, Frank. We’re all with you in your battle.”

Again she turned back to the camera. “Tonight in our top story, Mayor Coleman Young says he’s in full support of his police department’s new policy of confiscating the automobiles of those who solicit sex from prostitutes on the streets of our city.”

At the reception desk, Gwen was wearing a phone headset, frenetically busy with the lines. “WTEM.” (pause) “Thank you for calling, sir. I’ll let him know how you feel.” She punched a button. “WTEM.” (pause) “Yes, ma’am, I’ll pass your words along.”

In the VP-GM’s office Alice and Johanson faced each other across her desk. His pipe cold in his hand, the news director wondered, “What if he’d come to us with that before the show?”

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Yeah, I was just thinking about that. I’m not sure what I would’ve done.”

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I’m not either.”

Picking up her reciever, Alice dialed and waited.

“
Gwen, how are the calls?”

At her desk Gwen shook her head. “We’re swamped. Maybe 50 so far, and except for a few nasty ones, I’d say all of them positive or supportive in some way.”

In the newsroom with the 5 o’clock just wrapped, Dennis, Francine and Don Albert were sitting together. Dennis seemed to be talking to himself. “‘I’ve been less than faithful to my marriage vows?’ Can he get away with that?”

Don said, “If anybody can, it’s Frank.”

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How about Mary?” Batting his lashes, Dennis did a serviceable imitation of the co-anchor. “‘Well, Frank, we’re all with you in your battle.’”

Francine had no doubts. “I thought he was wonderful.”

“
You always think he’s wonderful,” said Dennis.

Don did his Frank impression: “Good evening, everybody. I’m Frank DeFauw, and tonight I AM the news."

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That’s about it, said Dennis. And then Frank walked into the newsroom with a bounce in his step.

“
Hey, boys and girls. So far, so good. The calls are running 20 to 1 in my favor.”

On his feet Dennis headed for him. “Frank, you were awesome.”

Frank shook the young man’s hand. “Thank you, my boy, and thanks for your turst. I know I drove you a little crazy.”

Don got up as well. “Great work, Frank. Your numbers are gonna go through the roof.”

Frank said, “Yeah, well, maybe, probably. Really, I have no idea.”

He stopped in front of Francine and did his Bogart. “What’d you think, sweetheart?”

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I thought you were fabulous, Frank. Oh, by the way, Pam in promotion asked me to remind you about that shoot with them tonight at eight.”

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Oh, right.”

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They said it’s just one 30-second spot straight to the camera, so it shouldn’t take long.”

“
Thanks, honey.”

As he moved to a computer and searched through some papers, a phone rang, and Francine picked it up. A few seconds later she punched a button and said, “Frank, for you.”

He reached for a phone. “This is Frank.”

A man’s unfamiliar voice said: “A moving little speech, Frank, but you just signed your own death warrant. And maybe one for your family.”

He glanced around the newsroom. “Who is this?”

The man on the phone snapped, “Forget that Peoples story, Frank, or you’re dead meat.” Then he hung up.

Hearing the click, Frank yelled, “Hey, you son-of-a...” and slammed down the phone.

Francine asked, “What’s wrong, Frank?”

He picked up his papers. “Just a crank.” Up from the chair he headed for his office.

Thirty seconds later the door was closed behind him, as he sat at his desk, as usual piled with tapes, files, newspapers and other debris, and dialed his phone.

After a few seconds: “Hi. So what’d you think?”

“
What do you want me to say?” Marci sounded slightly pissed, no different than usual. “Was I moved? Yes. Can I even begin to understand why you chose to say all that on TV? Hardly. I mean, what am I supposed to do, carry a TV set around all day just in case you want to talk to me? Why tell the whole world about our problems?”

He slouched in the chair. “Look, sweetheart, a lot of stuff is happening that I’ll tell you about later. Right now, I want you and the kids to get out of town for, a few days. At least until I can break this story. Head up north and visit your folks.”

“
What story, Frank? What’s going on? And why leave town?”

He leaned forward, out of his slouch. “I can’t talk about it now, but a guy just called with a death threat, and I want you and the kids out of town.”

Still sounding annoyed, she said, “You’ve had a million death threats, Frank. What’s special about this one?”

He got to his feet. “I think I know who’s behind this one.”

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Who?”

“
Billy.”

“
Frank, you’re really losing it.”

The downtown street corner on which he had picked up Letty Pell two months ago was only a block or so from here. As he walked up on the scene, he quickly saw what the promotion folks were after. Bathed in a rare but fading golden light that made even down-at-the-heels Detroit look half-way decent, the location would put the gleaming Ren Cen behind him to serve as both meaningful backdrop and effective backlight for his walk-and-talk.

Had that sticky note from Letty started the slide into his current contemptible fix? No, clearly it was just another garish marker on a long, pathetic descent.

He was only half-listening to the promotion-manager babble of pretty Pam Roberts. “The light is great, and it’s pretty quiet down here now, not many cars.”

And he was further distracted by the sway of her breasts against her blouse as she swung to gesture down Jefferson Avenue. Jesus, Frank the Incorrigible. So much happening, and he was still pre-occupied with tits.

“
And with the camera hidden in the van, we’re not as likely to have people trying to get in the shot with you.” Pam pointed a toe at a small piece of duct tape on the sidewalk. “This is your starting mark. Now let’s move up here where we need you to finish.”

They walked a half dozen yards as Frank stared at the blue van up on the sidewalk a short half-block away and housing the camera to which he’d be playing. As they stepped off the curb into the right lane of the broad divided avenue, a gray Town Car slowed considerably then resumed speed and passed them by.

Pam pointed down at another piece of tape, this one stuck on asphalt about five feet from the curb. “This is the mark we need you to hit. And we need you to come off the curb and into this first lane to get the background we want.”

He gave her his this-is-a-piece-of-cake grin. “Gotcha.”

As he stepped to the end mark and gazed at the van, a hand he knew belonged to Marty, the cameraman, appeared out a window with a thumb’s up. With choppy steps in her heels, Pam headed quickly for the van. “Okay, they’re happy. I’m going to watch a monitor in the van, so when I wave at you, just start anytime.”

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Right, no problem.”

Over her shoulder: “I love this light, but it won’t last long!”

He walked back to his starting mark, checked his lines one more time from a piece of white paper folded over, then put it away. Pam climbed into the van, and after a moment gave him the wave. He started walking and talking.

“
Some people say I own this town. Well, they’re wrong. This proud old city belongs to each and every one of you.”

In the van Marty worked the camera, James checked Frank’s voice on a headset and Pam watched the monitor where Frank’s image was well-framed in the attractive cityscape.

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You’ve lived its history, shared the good times and the bad and cherished a million memories.”

The image on the monitor slowly closed in on Frank as he stepped smoothly off the curb and onto the right lane.

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So this city belongs to you. But do I know this town? You bet I do. I was born and raised here, and after twenty-five years of working its streets, meeting its people and telling its stories, yes, I know this town.”

He stopped directly on his mark.

“
I like to think that’s one of the reasons so many of you join us at five and eleven to get your news. Because we know your town.”

Holding his pose for a few seconds, he stared straight at the camera in van’s open window. Finally, Pam appeared at the door, holding a stopwatch.

“
Fabulous, Frank. Right on the money. But let’s do it one more time just as a back-up while the light’s still good.”

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Sure enough.”

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When you’re back at your mark, just count to five and do it again.”

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Okay, got it.”

Inside the van Pam took her seat and watched Frank on the screen walking back toward the middle of the block, looking again at the script. Pam told Marty, “This time let’s move in on him a little sooner and a little tighter.”

The cameraman nodded. “Right on.”

Back on the sidewalk, Frank reached his starting mark, stuffed the script in his coat pocket and turned to face the van. That gray Town Car was moving to a stop on a side street a half-block behind him. As he straightened his tie, the big sedan paused at the intersection. And as he started walking, it turned the corner in his direction.

“
Some people say I own this town. Well, they’re wrong. This proud old city belongs to each and every one of you.”

The Town Car was picking up speed now.

“
You’ve lived its history, shared the good times and the bad and cherished a million memories.”

As he moved off the curb and into the street, he heard the Town Car’s roar behind him, and glancing back, saw it aiming straight at him.

Hearing the brief squeal of its tires, he dove for the sidewalk, and, as the big car swerved slightly, he barely escaped its path.

Sprawled on the cement, his heart slammed and his breathing turned to gasps. When he turned on an elbow and managed a look, the Town Car had already raced past the van and was rounding a corner.

Jumping out of the van now, Pam was followed by Marty and James, all of them running to Frank.

Marty got there first. “Jesus, Frank, are you okay?

An elbow and a knee both burned, but his heart continued pounding so hard he wasn’t sure about the rest. “I guess,” he said finally.

Pam seemed close to tears. “Oh, my god, Frank!

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Man, that was close,” said James, master of the obvious.

He felt weak and dizzy, but with each taking an arm, Marty and James helped him slowly to his feet. Marty leaned in close and said, “Just take it easy, Frank. Comin’ down from that adrenalin, you’re gonna feel a little shakey.”

Pam looked into his eyes and cried, “Oh, god, Frank, are you okay?”

Swaying slightly, he said, “I’m all right, I think.” He slowly flexed his right arm, then felt the hip on which he had landed. “Just a little sore.”

As two couples stopped nearby and watched, Marty said, “Christ, was that guy was trying to kill you?”

“
Yeah, maybe. Or at least scare the hell out of me.”

Marty said, “Scared me, man. I saw him comin’, but it happened too fast to yell.”

Frank glanced at the two couples, one black and one white, and joined now by a bearded black guy who looked like he lived on the street. “Anybody catch the plate?”

They all shook their heads, and Marty said, “It all happened too fast, man.”

James brushed off the shoulder of Frank’s suit, soiled and bruised. “That was some move, man. You still got the old reflexes.”

Frank shook his head without a word.

More than an hour later, at 9:40 pm, Frank glanced in his rear view mirror at the Bloomfield Hills squad car following the Viper as he weaved through his lakeside neighborhood. When he turned up his drive, the squad car pulled to the side nearby. Parking and walking to his front door, he held up five fingers for Officer Jerry before moving inside.

In the large family room at the back of the house, he strode directly to the huge picture window over looking the lake and pushed a button to close the drapes. As the motor hummed, he turned to find his wife and son staring at him on the large curved sofa facing a 32-inch Sony that offered “Home Improvement” without sound.

Seriously annoyed, Marci said, “Frank, so why haven’t you told the police?”

He glanced at Bobby, who was scowling now.
“I
have
told the police. I just stopped at the chief’s office and asked for some help. He’s only got a few men available tonight, but one of them followed me home, and he’s watching the house.”

Marci leaned forward on the sofa. “If someone wants to get us here, one little Bloomfield cop won’t stop ‘em.”

“
That’s why you and the kids need to go up to your parents tonight. You leave soon, you’ll be there by midnight.”